


Looking Back

by ByAStream



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Implied Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers - Freeform, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByAStream/pseuds/ByAStream
Summary: Steve remembers life before the ice. He embraces life after the ice, and the second chance given to him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Kudos: 16





	Looking Back

**December 25, 1942**

Steve smiled at the satiny card in his hand. He’d been with her for the past six years. She was a year below him when they were in school and the most beautiful girl he’d ever known. Their first date he’d taken her to a movie, using money he’d set aside for something special. Turned out that something special was her. He couldn’t believe she’d said yes. 

Six years on and they had been sending each other cards when they could. Bucky teased him about it. He had woken up before her, opening the card she set on his nightstand before he got up to make breakfast, a Christmas tradition. ‘ _ I love you’  _ was written on the underside of the fold in the card in her handwriting, underlined with a heart. The faint scent of her perfume clung to the page. 

They had married in June of ‘39. A simple ceremony with just their closest friends and family. They couldn’t afford much. Steve looked over at her, smiling at his beautiful wife. He had a box of all the cards she had ever sent him. Valentine’s Day, Easter, anniversaries, birthdays, and Christmas, all of the cards went into the box. 

Steve wrote out his card as he finished making breakfast. ‘ _ Merry Christmas, Sweetheart. You’re the nearest thing to heaven that I’ve ever known’  _ written as neat as he could manage. 

**December 25, 2018**

Steve looked at the box on his desk. His heart ached every time he thought about it. He knew what had happened after he went in the ice. You were still going strong at ninety-nine years old. He made a point of visiting you weekly. 

Two kids. A daughter and a son. Your eldest had been born in the fall of ‘43, a daughter named Sarah. Your son came along in July ‘45, born after he had gone on the ice. Steve had gotten two weeks to see you before that fateful fight. James Steven Rogers was the name you had decided on. The two of you had talked in letters about naming your son after Bucky. 

When he had come out of the ice, his first thought had been about you. You were living with Sarah then. Ninety-two years old and still insisting on doing everything yourself. You had cried when you got the news that Steve was alive. Your Steve. When you saw him, you had almost fainted. 

Steve had trouble adjusting to the idea that his kids were older than he was, that he had missed out on so much of their lives. He hadn’t told you, not at first. He had gone to visit Peggy. Peggy had scolded him, reminding him that he had the chance to know them now, to know his grandkids and great-grandkids. 

He looked at the box, taking out the card on top. The last card he’d given you before becoming Captain America. Christmas of ‘42. He wrote the same message in the card he had found when he’d been shopping for Christmas. Your care had been transferred to the compound, a room set up just for you. Your condition had been in steady decline. Steve had taken a leave of absence from the team. 

He slipped both cards in the pocket of his robe before heading to make breakfast. The tradition from the first years of your marriage had become a staple year in and year out since he’d come off the ice. The team wouldn’t join in until the afternoon. Steve knew when the family had shown up. Sarah had had two kids of her own, two daughters. The eldest was born in 1966, the youngest in 1968. James had had three kids, two sons and a daughter. His eldest son was born in 1970, his daughter in 1973, and the youngest born in 1976. 

The great-grandkids and great-great grand kids were the ones who had the most presents under the tree. The eldest of the great-grand kids was twenty-seven, the youngest just five. You and Steve had two great-great grand kids, one who was two and the other just three months. 

The compound was filled with laughter and conversation as the family arrived. Steve set about helping you get ready for the day. Your card was set down in front of your plate at the table. Your eyes shone with tears as you saw the Christmas card from 1942. 

“Oh, Steve,” you said softly. You opened the new card, seeing the same familiar scrawl with the words you had memorized.

You both knew your time together was coming to an end. You felt grateful to have had anymore time with him at all. 

Later that night, he laid beside you, holding your hand. You couldn’t help but remember your first date each time he took your hand in his. 

“You did good, sweetheart. Raising our kids on your own. Taking care of our grandkids. You’re one of the strongest women I know,” he said. You laughed.

“Peggy helped. Your Commandos too,” you said. The two of you laid in silence for a while before you spoke.

“Steven...you and I both know, I’m not going to live forever. Time robbed us of so much. But I need you to promise me something,” you said. 

“Anything,” he said. 

“Don’t be afraid to fall in love again. We’re quite a strange situation, you and I. Don’t focus on what you didn’t get to have. Focus on what you now have a chance to have,” you said. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice cracking. You squeezed his hand.

“The kids will understand, darling. They want you to be happy too. Love isn’t finite, Steven,” you said.

“You never moved on,” he said. You shook your head.

“I was happy with what I had. No one could match you in my heart, Steve. No one,” you said. 

You slipped away quietly in the night. Steve was alerted by FRIDAY when your vitals had started to drop, as had the medical staff. 

Bucky stood with him at the funeral, just after the new year. It was Bucky who made sure he ate, that he didn’t overwork himself in his grief. When Christmas rolled around again, Bucky refused to let him push people away. 

  
And so, Christmas morning, Bucky made breakfast. A simple card sat by Steve’s plate. A simple ‘ _ Merry Christmas, punk _ ’ written in Bucky’s handwriting. Steve smiled at him, just shaking his head at his oldest friend. Surrounded by family, Steve felt at peace, even with a piece of his heart missing, an ache that would never quite go away. 


End file.
